Auditions for Newsies
by Butterfly Conlon
Summary: Take a trip back to 1991 where auditions for Newsies were being held, though all concocted through my warped mind... New: a hostile answering machine encounter with Robert Duvall and slashy fun with Davey and Denton.
1. Gabriel Damon: The Muse

Note from Author: Yeah, I know this probably doesn't resemble anything I've written before, but I was getting so boggled down in all my drama fics that I had to write something insanely stupid. If you want me to write in a certain actor from the movie, just tell me and I'll do my best!  
  
Disclaimer: Okay, obviously I do not own any of the characters because they are real people. Yes, I am poking fun of them but I still love them all very much--well, most of them. Read, review and enjoy my twisted rendition of  
  
AUDITIONS FOR NEWSIES  
  
GABRIEL DAMON: THE MUSE  
  
::Location: 1991 in an airy room on the bottom level of a building in the Universal Studios lot. Behind a fold out table sits Kenny Ortega and random others. Miscellaneous sheets of paper and 8 x 10 headshots adorn the tabletop.::  
  
Ortega: All right, send the next kid in.  
  
::Door opens. Gabriel Damon cautiously shuffles in, his eyes darting about the room. He halts in the middle of the room in front of the table.::  
  
Ortega: Hi, there, please state your name!  
  
Gabe (staring warily around room): Uh-are these the auditions for Little Nemo: Return to Slumberland?  
  
::Ortega and random people exchange glances.::  
  
Ortega: Little what? No, these are auditions for the new Disney musical spectacular Newsies!  
  
Gabe (bewildered): Um, I think I should go. Now.  
  
::Ortega leaps off of chair and comes around front of table, banging hip on edge and causing headshots to fall to the ground. Grabs Gabe before he can rush out door. Places arm around his shoulder. ::  
  
Ortega: Leave, now? Nonsense! I have a vision.  
  
Gabe: A vision?  
  
Ortega (dramatically, placing his head closer to Gabe's and waving his arm in front of him with a flourish): As I was sleeping one night, a dream came to me. A vision!  
  
Random others: A vision!  
  
Ortega: God told me that I was to create a new musical that would be the end all be all of musicals! (releases Gabe and hops onto table) Take what I created in Dirty Dancing and add-  
  
Random others: Yes? Yes?  
  
Ortega: PELVIC THRUSTS!  
  
::Ortega proceeds to demonstrate. Random others erupt into coos and applause. Gabe stands absolutely befuddled.::  
  
Ortega (jumping off table and returning to Gabe): You! You will be part of that vision! Oh, a higher presence told me that my Spot Conlon was going to work through that door right now. And here you are! Spot Conlon!  
  
::Ortega bows as others shower him in claps and whistles.::  
  
Ortega (wiping imaginary tears away): Yes, yes I know. I am a genius. And this man right her shall be my muse. My SPOT CONLON!  
  
::Ortega takes exaggerated bows and others are in passionate hysterics.::  
  
Ortega (clapping hands together and hurdling table, returning to seat and folding hands): So, what is your name?  
  
Gabe (slowly) Gabriel Da-  
  
Ortega: NO!  
  
Gabe: No?  
  
Ortega (pounding fist on table): No you are not Gabriel Day! You are Spot Conlon!  
  
Gabe: Spot Conlon?  
  
Ortega: YES!  
  
Gabe: Who the fuck is Spot Conlon?  
  
Ortega: YOU!  
  
Gabe: Me?  
  
Ortega: YES! YOU are Spot Conlon! YOU are the fearless leader of Brooklyn.  
  
Gabe (panning the crowd at the table): Okay, I get it. Where's the hidden camera? Is this some trick or something?  
  
::People at table break out into murmurs and exchange glances.::  
  
Ortega: Of course not. What would make you think that?  
  
Gabe (regarding them with a wild grin as he backs away): Okay, well, I really gotta be going-Little Nemo calls my name.  
  
::Gabe turns for door yet Ortega leaps over table, and slams his back against door, blocking Gabe.::  
  
Ortega (pleading): Wait, Spot, don't go, please.  
  
Gabe (fury beginning to taint his voice): I am not Spot-  
  
Ortega: Please, don't go yet, Spot. Just a few more questions?  
  
Gabe (bellowing): I AM NOT SPOT!  
  
Ortega: All right, Spot. Will you stay if I call you Gabriel?  
  
Gabe: HELLO! Gabriel IS my name.  
  
Ortega (incredulously): All right. If its one of those weird fetishes like people have I'll call you by a different name, Spot.  
  
Gabe: GABRIEL!  
  
Ortega (returning to table): Fine, GABRIEL, if that's what you want to be called. (to others at table) Weird kid. Really weird. (to Gabe, bright and sunny) So, hi Gabriel! Please come away from the door and stand near the middle of the table to we can all get a good look at you!  
  
::Gabe, furious, begrudgingly positions himself where Ortega commanded::  
  
Ortega: So, Sp-Gabriel. Tell us a little about yourself.  
  
Gabe: I WAS on my way to an audition for Little Nemo: Return to Slumberland.  
  
Ortega: Little what?  
  
Gabe: LITTLE NEMO: RETURN TO SLUMBERLAND. For Chrissake, do you want me to spell it out! Okay, so I made some bad career choices, but it's the only work I can get!  
  
Ortega (innocently and with a flourish): Did I say anything? What else?  
  
Gabe (glumly): Iron Maze.  
  
Ortega (nodding head at others at table): Oh, Iron Maze. Must have missed that.  
  
Gabe: Robocop 2.  
  
Ortega: I didn't know they made a Robocop 1!  
  
::Gabe falls to floor in a state of depression. He breaks down as he reaches under his pant leg and pulls out a flask of whisky that had been strapped to his ankle.::  
  
Gabe (sobbing and partaking in erratic drinks): Baywatch!  
  
Ortega: Oh, Baywatch. That's the show where they all run in slow motion. My, you must be talented to run in slow motion! I know I could never run in slow motion!  
  
::Others murmur in agreement with Ortega as Gabe's sobs increase.::  
  
Gabe: Hey, man! I-hic-can't help the bad career choices I made! I was-hic- only a kid! I thought I was-hic-cool for being on Punky-hic-Brewster.  
  
::Ortega rises from chair and joins Gabe, falling to his haunches and places a hand on Gabe's heaving shoulder::  
  
Ortega: Spot, you know drinking is bad for you. I used to drink when I was your age-  
  
::Gabe lets out a cry and tosses flask across room::  
  
Gabe: All right! All right! I swear to the Lord Above I won't drink anymore! Just so I don't turn out like you! Just so I don't turn out like you!  
  
Ortega (smiling insanely): That's a boy!  
  
::Ortega pulls Gabe to his feet::  
  
Ortega: Now, Spot, here's a script. Let's see what you can do!  
  
::Ortega returns to his seat. Gabe stands, collecting himself, turning the script right side up to he can read it. He clears his throat.::  
  
Gabe: So, Jacky boy, I've been hearing things from little birds. Things from Harlem-  
  
Ortega (loudly and dramatically, returning to Gabe's side) STOP! STOP!  
  
Gabe: What?  
  
Ortega: Your doing it all WRONG!  
  
Gabe: Doing what all wrong?  
  
Ortega: The ACCENT! You're missing the most crucial piece of the lines! The accent!  
  
Gabe: The accent? What accent?  
  
Ortega (sighing loudly and ripping script from Gabe): The NEW YORK accent! Spot, an actor is much like a painter. The ears of others are the canvas, his lips the brushes, and his words the paint. You must FEEL the New York accent. Make my knees tremble when you say it! SO, AH, JACKY BOY, AH, I'VE BEEN HEARIN' LITTLE THINGS FROM BOIDS! THINGS FROM HAHLEM, QUEENS!  
  
::The random others at the table break out in to wild applauds and Ortega takes a bow.::  
  
Ortega (handing the script to Gabe and returning to his seat): Now, DO IT!  
  
Gabe: So, er, Jacky boy, er, I've been hearing little things from birds-  
  
Ortega: BOIDS!  
  
Gabe: Birds!  
  
Ortega: BOIDS!  
  
Gabe (throwing down script): What the hell is a boid?  
  
Ortega: A bird!  
  
Gabe: Than why the hell can't I just say bird?  
  
Ortega: Because if you just said bird then you would be deconstructing my whole vision! A vision sent straight from God himself! You don't want to mess with something of that magnitude, now do you?  
  
Gabe (grumbling under breath and picking up script): All right, All right. (clears throat.) So, er, Jacky-  
  
Ortega: AH!  
  
Gabe: What?  
  
Ortega: You are saying er! It's ah!  
  
Gabe: For Christ's sake! So, AH, Jacky boy, AH, I've been hearing-  
  
Ortega: HEARIN'! Drop that g! It is not part of the vision!  
  
Gabe: HearIN' little things from bards-  
  
Ortega: From what?  
  
Gabe: Bards! From bards!  
  
Ortega: Well, what is a bard?  
  
Gabe: A bird!  
  
Ortega: Well, you don't want to sound Canadian you want to sound New Yorkian!  
  
Gabe: New Yorkian?  
  
Ortega: YES! Boids!  
  
::Gabe has become fed up.::  
  
Gabe: Screw this shit! Get another muse for your vision! I am late for my audition for Little Nemo and my mom's really gonna be pissed off. I'm out of here!  
  
::Gabe thundered to the door yet Ortega once again jumps the table and blocks him.::  
  
Ortega: Wait! Spot! Please! We can work on dialogue later! What about dancing? Can you dance?  
  
::Gabe regards him with an insolent glare.::  
  
Ortega: Well, then! Everyone's got to learn for a first time! Just follow my steps and repeat the combination after me! One, two, three, step, ball, chain, step, ball chain, five, six, seven, pirouette, releve', step ball chain, plie', seven, eight, nine, pelvic thrust and we are done!  
  
::Others at table break into wild applause as Gabe snorts and opens the door.::  
  
Ortega: WAIT! What about singing? I'M THE KING OF NEW YORK!  
  
::Gabe places foot through door.::  
  
Ortega: Wait! So, let me get this right. You can't sing?  
  
Gabe: No.  
  
Ortega: You can't dance?  
  
Gabe: No.  
  
Ortega: And you can't act?  
  
Gabe: No.  
  
Ortega: WELL THEN BY GEORGE, WE HAVE OUR SPOT!  
  
::Room erupts into ardent cheers. Gabe releases a groan, pushes past Ortega and out the threshold.::  
  
Ortega (calling after Gabe out the door): Oh, you'll be just marvelous! Oh, my vision, my wonderful, wonderful vision is falling into place so well! Just think how marvelous you'll look in a newsboys cap! (ignores the gesture that Gabe throws at him) Oh, you'll get a letter in the mail from us, Spot! And don't go to that audition you were going to go to! And be sure to work on your pelvic thrusts! You are our Spot Conlon now.  
  
::Ortega pulls head in door and slowly shuts it. He returns to his seat at the table amid all the cheers.::  
  
Ortega: Who's the next kid?  
  
Woman: Max Casella.  
  
Ortega (under breath): Max Casella-  
  
::Ortega picks up Max Casella's headshot. A devious smile crosses his face.::  
  
Ortega: Hi, there, please state your name! 


	2. Max Casella: The Chain Smoker

Note from Author: A big thank you to all of those who reviewed and now on to more insanity-  
  
MAX CASELLA: THE CHAINSMOKER  
  
::Location: 1991 in an airy room on the bottom level of a building in the Universal Studios lot. Behind a fold out table sits Kenny Ortega and random others. Miscellaneous sheets of paper and 8 x 10 headshots adorn the tabletop::  
  
Ortega: All right, send the next kid in.  
  
::Door opens. Max Casella enters appearing quite frightened::  
  
Ortega (staring lovingly at a headshot of Gabe that is on table, does not view Max): Hi, there, please state your name!  
  
::Max does not reply, as his eyes are wandering maddeningly about the room::  
  
Ortega (brightly, still not viewing Max): Ahem, hi, there, please state your name!  
  
Max (in a near whisper): Uh, Max, Max Casella.  
  
Ortega (listlessly, still infatuated with picture of his muse): Tell me, Max, you sound nervous, why?  
  
Max (growing more uncomfortable with every passing moment): Uh, well, ya see, I'm sort of at my wit's end-I had, had a stint on Doogie Howser, M.D.- you know? Doogie Howser, M.D.?  
  
Ortega (lazily, still regarding the headshot on the table): Yes, of course, who doesn't? That's where they took the three hour tour and got stranded on that island.  
  
Max: Ah, no, actually that was Gill-  
  
Ortega: As you were saying before?  
  
Max (befuddled): Right, well, and, um, I was Vinnie Delphino-  
  
Ortega (laughingly, still not seeing Max): Oh I remember you! Vinnie Barbarino! You were the cool one, weren't you?  
  
Max: Um, no. I said, Vinnie Delphino. I wasn't on Welcome Back-  
  
Ortega: You were saying?  
  
Max: Right-well see, Gilli-Doogie Howser, M.D. just ended and I'm out of work and I'm hoping to make it into the movies-  
  
Ortega (indolently, still fawning Gabe's headshot): Yes and you're here because?  
  
Max (bewildered): Wait, this is where auditions for Newsies are being held, right?  
  
::Ortega suddenly elicits a gasp and looks up. Rapture crosses his features as he leaps out of chair::  
  
Ortega: WAIT! DON'T SAY ANOTHER WORD!  
  
Max: Pard-  
  
::Ortega leaps over table, the miscellaneous papers falling to the ground. He rushes to Max, placing an arm around his shoulder::  
  
Ortega (enraptured): Ladies and Gentlemen! Do you see this? Do you see this? Please tell me that my eyes are not just playing a despicable jest upon me!  
  
Random others: They're not! They're not!  
  
::Ortega throws his head back and places a hand to his brow::  
  
Ortega: Oh, my vision! As I was sitting in that chair, regarding the headshot of my muse, and the Lord God himself sent another revelation to me! That my Crutchy was standing right before me yet I was just too ignorant a mortal to envision it!  
  
::Max pulls away from Ortega::  
  
Max: No, no, no. Crutchy? See my agent was sent the script of Racetrack Higgins. Racetrack Higgins.  
  
Ortega (bewildered): You Racetrack Higgins?  
  
::The entire room save Max bursts into wild peals of laughter.::  
  
Max (beginning to become furious): Well, why not? What's wrong with me?  
  
Ortega: Well, its just that...we are trying to get Luke Perry be Racetrack Higgins. You know how much charisma that boy has. Just watching him on Beverly Hills, 90210 I can just imagine him in suspenders and doing those pelvic thrusts.  
  
::Room erupts into agreeable murmurs::  
  
Ortega: Yes, you see, it is all part of my vision, young Crutchy, a vision sent straight to me from God himself! The end all be all of musicals! Take what I created in Dirty Dancing and add-  
  
Others: PELVIC THRUSTS!  
  
Ortega: Yes! Pelvic Thrusts! God's gift to the human race!  
  
::Others burst into cheers and applause::  
  
Ortega (turning to Max): And in my vision God told me that my Crutchy was going to be walking through that door right after I had found my muse. And by George, I have my muse! And my Crutchy!  
  
::Others break into whistles::  
  
Ortega (fanning face): Yes, thank you, thank you. It's going so beautifully isn't it? I can just picture that golden little son of a bitch in my hands, the hands of the Academy's Best Director!  
  
::Max pulls out of Ortega's grasps and holds up his hands::  
  
Max: Whoa, whoa, whoa. I'm auditioning for-  
  
Ortega: CRUTCHY!  
  
::Ortega places his arm once more around Max and pushes him into the middle of the room. He disappears for a moment before returning with a crutch. He holds it out to Max.::  
  
Ortega (brightly): Here, my crippled friend! Strut your stuff!  
  
::Ortega offers Max the crutch, yet it fall to the floor for Max makes no motion to accept it.::  
  
Max (regarding Ortega as though he is insane): I am not using that damn crutch. I-  
  
Ortega (chidingly): Now, Crutchy, how do you expect to be a gimp without your crutch?  
  
Max (beginning to lose his temper): I am not playing a-  
  
::Ortega releases a sigh and retrieves the crutch with a flourish, shoving it to Max.::  
  
Ortega (whispering): Now, just between you and me, we know you got the part, wink wink. But for their sake, just hobble around the room for a few laps and prove just what a marvelous gimp you can be, young Crutchy!  
  
::Ortega quickly smacks Max's bottom. Max cries out in protest.::  
  
Ortega (loudly): Now go to it!  
  
Max (grumbling): Goddamn mother fu-Okay, take a deep breath, Max and just do what he says. You need the money. You need the money. You need the money. You need the money.  
  
::Max proceeds to hobble about the room on the cane. Ortega erupt into charlatan tears as the others join him::  
  
Ortega (orgasmic): What did I tell you? Isn't he the perfect gimp or what? He evokes so many emotions. Like Tiny Tim.  
  
Others: Yes, like Tiny Tim.  
  
Man: But didn't Tiny Tim die?  
  
::Silence::  
  
Ortega: Yes-well, my wonderful, wonderful vision!  
  
::Ortega places a hand on Max's shoulder::  
  
Ortega (excitedly): Oh, Crutchy! Just wait! I have conjured some remarkable dance combinations for you! You'll have a duet with your crutch-  
  
::There is a knock at the door::  
  
Ortega: Yes?  
  
::Door opens. Ortega's assistant leans in doorway, looking rather downtrodden.::  
  
Assistant: Sir, I have just found out some rather bad news-  
  
Ortega (impatiently): Yes? Yes?  
  
Assistant: Sir, Luke Perry's agent just called. He already had prior engagements to be in Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  
  
::Ortega appears as a balloon that has just been deflated::  
  
Ortega (slowly, disbelieving): Buffy the-Vampire-Slayer-  
  
Assistant: Yes, sir.  
  
Ortega (suddenly infuriated): Buffy the Vampire Slayer? What the fuck is Buffy the Vampire? Why would he want to be in a movie about creatures that suck blood when he could be in my extravagant vision?  
  
Assistant: I-I don't know, sir.  
  
Ortega (acrimoniously): Well, I can't let one little bastard ruin my whole vision. But a Racetrack-I need a Racetrack-  
  
::Max clears his throat::  
  
::Ortega begins to pace room::  
  
Ortega (forlornly): Where am I going to get a better Racetrack Higgins than Luke Perry-  
  
::Max clears his throat more clearly::  
  
Ortega: Oh, God, I might as well hang myself right now. My whole career, my Oscar can be flushed down the-  
  
Max: AHEM!  
  
::Ortega shifts his gaze to Max. Suddenly, he lights up like a damn Christmas tree::  
  
Ortega: You.  
  
Max (innocently): Me?  
  
Ortega: Yes, you! You-you are Italian. You can be my Racetrack Higgins! Vinnie Barbarino, you are my new Racetrack! Oh, my vision isn't annihilated. The pelvic thrusts shall live on!  
  
::Room breaks into wild cheers::  
  
Ortega (frantically, to Max): You. You are my Racetrack. Can you play cards?  
  
Max: I-well-  
  
::Ortega reaches to back pocket and produces a set of cards::  
  
Ortega: Cards. Racetrack is a gambler. Here, play 52 pick up.  
  
::In one movement, Ortega hurls the stack of cards into air and they rain down on the pair. Max regards Ortega insolently.::  
  
Ortega (prodding): Well, go ahead. Show me what kind of bookie you can be.  
  
::Max regards him with set features.::  
  
Max: I am not picking those cards up.  
  
Ortega: Right. Well, in the movie you have to smoke. Do you smoke?  
  
Max: No, I don't-  
  
::Max finds Ortega pushing a cigar between his teeth and lighting it with a match::  
  
Ortega: Well, welcome to the wonderful world of chain-smoking, Vinnie. It's a world that sure helps me out when the day just starts to get blue!  
  
::Max erupts into a great coughing spell, the cigar falling to the ground::  
  
Ortega: Oh, that happens if you're not use to inhaling. Here, have another.  
  
::Another cigar is soon inserted unwillingly into Max's mouth::  
  
Max: Oh, I don't feel too good-  
  
Ortega: And tell me, Vinnie, do you play the harmonica?  
  
Max (collecting himself): The what?  
  
Ortega: The harmonica?  
  
Max: What the hell would I play the harmonica for? You already got me as a chain-smoking gambler.  
  
Ortega: Well, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree-  
  
Max (groaning): Oh, shit-  
  
Ortega: Here, have another cigar. We must get you ready for my vision! My wonderful wonderful vision!  
  
:;Max has turned a marvelous shade of green::  
  
Max: I think I have lung cancer-  
  
Ortega: Of course not! Don't be-  
  
:;Max relapses into a wonderful coughing spell as he dashes out the door for any type of water available. Ortega pops his head out the doors and calls after him::  
  
Ortega: Vinnie? Alright, take 5? But we need to practice the harmonica and get you used to those cigars! Isn't this exciting? Oh and just wait until you learn the pelvic thrusts!  
  
::Ortega pulls head in door and slowly shuts it. He returns to his seat at the table amid all the cheers.::  
  
Ortega: Who's the next kid?  
  
Woman: Ann-Margret.  
  
Ortega (under breath): Ann-Margret  
  
::Ortega picks up Ann-Margret's headshot. His features twist into revulsion::  
  
Ortega: Hi, there, please state your name! 


	3. Ele Keats: The Nymphomaniac

Note From Author: Thanks to all those that reviewed. And to Ele Keats: I am very sorry about this and know that you are not a nympho in real life, it's just my revenge for you playing Sarah--  
  
ELE KEATS: THE NYMPHOMANIAC  
  
::Location: 1991 in an airy room on the bottom level of a building in the Universal Studios lot. Behind a fold out table sits Kenny Ortega and random others. Miscellaneous sheets of paper and 8 x 10 headshots adorn the tabletop::  
  
Ortega (to random others at table): Okay, I know that these are OPEN auditions, but why the hell does someone like, what's her name?  
  
Woman: Ann-Margret?  
  
Ortega: Right, Ann-Margret have to come and completely deconstruct my whole beautiful vision. It sends absolute shudders down my spine to think-  
  
::Ortega is interrupted as door opens. Ele Keats shuffles in wearing a very placid look and with her arms wrapped around her. She halts in front of Ortega. Ortega regards her incredulously as he stares at Ann-Margret's headshot::  
  
Ortega (bewildered): Ann-Margret?  
  
::Ele shakes her head::  
  
Ele (cool, collected): No, my name is Ele Keats.  
  
Ortega (ruffling through papers, trying to find headshot): Ele Keats? Ele Keats?  
  
Ele: Yes, sir.  
  
Ortega: Ele Keats? Ele Keats? (looks her over carefully, sneer adorning face) No, no, you are not part of my vision of else He would have informed me. No, I'm very sorry but you'll just have to go.  
  
Ele: Please, sir-  
  
Woman (to Ortega): Kenny, you DID say yourself that these were OPEN auditions.  
  
::Ortgea leans back in chair listlessly::  
  
Ortega (sighing loudly): Oh, fine, go ahead. Although I don't see what use it is since it's not part of my wonderful vision-But, go ahead, what the hell have you been in?  
  
Ele: Well, I've been in The Rocketeer-  
  
Ortega (loudly): Oh, The Rocketeer! Didn't that little ditty sweep the Oscars last year?  
  
Ele: And I was born in France-  
  
Ortega: Well doesn't that just make you the little wonder! Born in France and in The Rocketeer! Well, oy oy to you!  
  
Ele: Pardon?  
  
Ortega: Oy oy! You know, Frenchy, over there it means yes!  
  
Ele: I think you mean oui-  
  
Ortega: Wee?  
  
Ele: Oui-  
  
Ortega (curtly): Don't correct me, I'm the DIRECTOR! The VISIONARY! The LORD of the PELVIC THRUSTS! The mastermind behind the utter genius in DIRTY DANCING! Through my God-like dance combinations, I brought the true passion between Baby and Johnny-  
  
Ele: What is Dirty Dancing?  
  
::Ortega clutches his hand to his heart::  
  
Ortega (gasping, wheezing): Please, please tell me she did not just ask what Dirt Dancing was!  
  
Woman: Yes, Kenny, she did.  
  
Ortega (incredulous): To-to ask what Dirty Dancing is is like breaking one of the Ten Commandments!  
  
Ele (befuddled): Pardon?  
  
::Ortega swiftly rises and bangs a fist on the table, causing papers to scatter to the floor::  
  
Ortega: I was the one that brought Baby out of that damn corner, me! Not that damn Swazye character-  
  
Ele (through Ortega's ramblings): Sir, I know that I haven't been in that many films, but I am not really here to better my acting career.  
  
Ortega (halting): What? Ele: Yes. You see, my therapist sent me here.  
  
Ortega: Your THERAPIST?  
  
::Ele approaches table::  
  
Ele: Yes, she even gave me this note for you to read.  
  
::Ortega regards her suspiciously as he takes the note from her, unfolding it and reading it, murmuring under his breath. As he reads further into it, his features become that of total disbelief. He looks up at Ele in total bewilderment.::  
  
Ortega (not believing): You're a-  
  
Ele (nodding): Nymphomaniac.  
  
Ortega: A nymphomaniac.  
  
::Ele nods.::  
  
Ortega (glancing from letter to Ele): A nymphomaniac?  
  
Ele: Uh-huh.  
  
Ortega: Let me get this right. You're a nymphomaniac.  
  
Ele: Yep.  
  
Ortega: You like to have sex?  
  
Ele (laughing): Oh, no. Not just sex. Lot's of sex.  
  
Ortega: Sex?  
  
Ele: Yep.  
  
Ortega: With men?  
  
Ele: Oh, with lots of men!  
  
Ortega: How about women?  
  
Ele (pondering): No, not with women-  
  
::A smile slithers up Ortega's face as he reclines into the chair, resting his cross ankles on the table and placing his arms behind his head::  
  
Ortega: As a matter of fact, God just sent me a vision! A vision for Sarah Jacobs! Sarah Jacobs the little hussy-  
  
Ele: Oh, no, you don't understand! I'm a reformed nymphomaniac!  
  
Ortega: A reformed nymphomaniac?  
  
Ele: Yes. You see, my therapist and I are trying to cut down on my sexual cravings-  
  
Ortega (audibly): CUT DOWN?  
  
Ele: Uh-huh. You see, we've been working on it for a while. Staying abstinent, I mean. And it's a 12-step program. It's working. I, I mean don't get me wrong, there are sometimes when I just get these urges-  
  
Ortega (with dropped jaw): Urges?  
  
Ele: Yes, urges. And I just can't help them. But that still doesn't mean that I have sex. It just means that I am kept in this state of suspended heat-  
  
Ortega: Suspended heat?  
  
::Ele nods mournfully::  
  
Ele: Yes. But anyway, I am almost free of my nymphomaniac ways!  
  
Ortega: Free of them?  
  
Ele (cheerfully): Yes! It's been almost a month since I've had sex and my therapist is so proud of me! You see, my agent saw that they were having auditions for this movie Newsies and contacted me. Well, I got a copy of the script and read it with my therapist and she said that it would be the perfect opportunity-  
  
Ortega: Perfect opportunity?  
  
Ele: Now you're starting to see it! This would be a set just crawling with boys and it could be my chance to prove that I was no longer a nymphomaniac by proving that I wouldn't have sex with any of them!  
  
Ortega (drained of color): No sex?  
  
Ele: Yes! And Mr. Ortega, as you can see, I really need this role. I need to prove to myself that I can control my sexual urges!  
  
Ortega: But for fuck's sake, why would you want to control them?  
  
Ele: How's that?  
  
Ortega (murmuring to himself): Nothing never mind. All right! You need to read from the script!  
  
::Ortega leaps out of his seats and bounds over to Ele, putting am arm around her shoulder. He is staring towards the heavens and waving his free arm dramatically in front of him.::  
  
Ortega: The scene is the climax! Jack has returned to Sarah at the whorehouse-  
  
Ele (disgusted): The whorehouse?  
  
Ortega: Of course.  
  
Ele: Well, that wasn't in the script!  
  
Ortega: Well, my dear, I never did meet a nymphomaniac who could read well!  
  
Ele (still unsure): Well, all right-  
  
Ortega: Anyhow, he's come back to the whorehouse to pronounce his love to Sarah. You be Sarah and I'll be Jack.  
  
Ele: All right-  
  
::Ortega suddenly switches his grasp so his arms are around Ele, dipping her down::  
  
Ortega (over dramatically): Oh, Sarah! Oh, Sarah! Oh, Sarah!  
  
Ele: Mr. Ortega, this wasn't in the script.  
  
Ortega: Then go off on a tangent. (Returning to character): Oh, Sarah, how I have missed your delicious-  
  
::Ele rips herself from Ortega::  
  
Ele: Mr. Ortega, that was definitely not in the script!  
  
Ortega: It may not have been in the script, though God just sent me another revelation of inspiration this moment!  
  
Ele (unsure): He did?  
  
Ortega: Yes! He told me that Jack and Sarah are to make hot, sweaty love on the floor!  
  
::Ortega rips open his shirt::  
  
Ele: Mr. Ortegta, please stop trying to seduce me. I am a reformed nymphomaniac, didn't I tell you that?  
  
Ortega (grumbling): But it was my revelation-  
  
Ele: I know, Mr. Ortega, I know. But you don't want to get my sexual urges stiring up again do you?  
  
::Ortega is silent::  
  
Ele: I mean, what if you just veto the part about the hot, sweaty love making on the floor and keep with the original script. I mean, I could deal with kissing a Jack if he was very unattractive. Hey, maybe I could practice on you!  
  
Ortega (quietly infuriated): No thanks, I'll pass.  
  
::Ortega returns to his seat, holding his torn shirt together::  
  
Ele: Well?  
  
Ortega (harshly): Well what?  
  
Ele: Do I have the job?  
  
Ortega: I guess-  
  
Ele (sqeualing): Oh, Mr. Ortega, thank you! You don't know how much you're helping me! One more step closer to curing my nymphomania!  
  
Ortega (under breath): Why the hell would you want to cure it?  
  
Ele: Oh, thank you Mr. Ortega, you will be a wonderful director! But I really gotta go because I have an appointment with my therapist-  
  
Ortega: Oh, the therapist-  
  
Ele (cheerfully): I'm sure Sarah and I will have so much in common! Oh, I should be going! Goodbye, Mr. Ortega!  
  
::Ele exits room. All the others are staring at Ortega::  
  
Ortega (snapping): WELL WHAT ARE YOU STARING AT?  
  
::Commotion soon fills the room::  
  
Ortega: Where the hell is that Ann-Margret?  
  
::Woman shrugs::  
  
Ortega: Who's the next kid?  
  
Woman: Christian Bale.  
  
Ortega (under breath): Christian Bale-  
  
::Ortega picks up Christian Bale's headshot. A devious smile crosses his face.::  
  
Ortega: Hi, there, please state your name! 


	4. Christian Bale: The Decieved Cowboy

Note from Author: Thank you as always for the reviews-though, it does scare me somewhat that people are actually reviewing because this is whole story is just so insane. Anyhow, I hope to get the entire cast in! And enjoy more of my bizarre mind--  
  
CHRISTIAN BALE: THE COWBOY  
  
::Location: 1991 in an airy room on the bottom level of a building in the Universal Studios lot. Behind a fold out table sits Kenny Ortega and random others. Miscellaneous sheets of paper and 8 x 10 headshots adorn the tabletop::  
  
::Ortega sits, very agitated, as Woman sews up his torn short::  
  
Ortega (testily): Damn Disney! You mean that they won't even provide me with another shirt?  
  
::Woman shakes head as she continues sewing::  
  
Ortega: Well, they could at least be a little bit more kindly! After all, I am the man that is responsible for THEIR end-all be-all of musicals. (Becomes more dramatic, leaping off chair, needle and string still dangling from shirt) My vision-  
  
Random others: A vision!  
  
::Ortega leaps onto table, causing headshots to be scattered about::  
  
Ortega: God told me that I was to create a new musical that would be the end-all be-all of musicals! Take what I created in Dirty Dancing and add-  
  
Random others: Yes? Yes?  
  
Ortega: PELVIC THRUSTS!  
  
::Woman interrupts Ortega as he is about to demonstrate::  
  
Woman: Kenny, perhaps you want to wait until the next kid comes in?  
  
::Ortega ponders::  
  
Ortega (shrugging): All right.  
  
::Ortega once again takes a seat and rummages through headshots, picking up Christian Bale's::  
  
Ortega: Who's this kid?  
  
Woman: That's Christian Bale.  
  
Ortega: Christian Bale-  
  
::Ortega gasps audibly, causing others in the room to regard him as though he is insane::  
  
Ortega (tears coming to his eyes, pointing to headshot): Don't you dare tell me that you don't see that?  
  
Woman: Err-  
  
::Ortega irritably reaches over to man next to him and pulls pen out of his breast pocket::  
  
Ortega: This!  
  
::He proceeds to draw a rather sloppy cowboy hat atop Christian's head::  
  
::Woman takes headshot in her hands and twists it this way and that, wearing an expression of perplexion::  
  
Ortega: Well?  
  
Woman: Well what?  
  
Ortega (breathlessly): Do you agree?  
  
Woman (confused): Agree that---he looks better with black hair?  
  
Ortega (angrily, ripping picture from her grasp and pointing at hat): No, you ninny! With the hat!  
  
Woman: Oh, that's a hat?  
  
Ortega: Of course it's a hat! What the hell else did you think it was-  
  
Woman: I don't know, Kenny, I mean you do have that sort of abstract quality to you-  
  
Ortega (interrupting her): DON'T YOU SEE? HE'S OUR COWBOY?  
  
Woman: Our Cowboy?  
  
Ortega: YES! God gave me the vision-  
  
Woman: But don't cowboys live in Texas?  
  
Ortega: (stunned at he question): Yes-I don't know!  
  
Woman: Oh. Then why is he living in New York?  
  
Ortega: Christ almighty! He's not a REAL cowboy! He's infatuated with being ONE!  
  
Woman: Oh.  
  
::Ortega has been seduced into a horrid mood, now grumbling under his breath at the Woman unwittingly "deconstructing" his vision::  
  
::There is a set of knocks at the door, and it opens. Ann-Margret appears with great air and enters with a flourish::  
  
Ann-Margret: Hello, newsies! High times, hard times some times de living is sveet and sometimes zere's nothing to eat but I always land on my feet-  
  
::A phone has appeared on the table in front of Ortega::  
  
Ortega (in a low voice in phone): Security? Yes, it appears that one of those crazy people have gotten loose again from that damn insane asylum that they just had to build across from the lot. Yes, she's a woman-I think- who is serenading us-  
  
Woman (interrupting Ortega): Kenny, that's not an escaped patient. That's Ann-Margret.  
  
Ortega: Excuse me?  
  
Woman (nodding): Yes, Ann-Margret.  
  
Ortega: Who the hell is Ann-Margret?  
  
Ann-Margret: I am Ann-Margret!  
  
::Ortega regards her::  
  
Ortega: You, Ann-Margret?  
  
Ann-Margret: Yes, Ann-Margret, Sex Kitten of de '60's!  
  
Ortega (laughing): Well, then, honey, you might want to invest in a time machine to take you back to your kitten days because now you are only a tom cat like the ones that sit one people's back fences at night and yowl and yowl until they get hit with a boot.  
  
Ann-Margret: Yah, I vas in Bye, Bye Birdie.  
  
::Ortega is about to pick up receiver and call for security when the door suddenly bangs open, hitting Ann-Margret and rendering her unconscious. She falls to the floor in a heap. Christian Bale enters, looking bewildered and disheveled. His hair is askew, his shirt ripped, and his pants unbuttoned. His breathing heavy and labored, he suddenly slams door behind him, pressing all his weight against it::  
  
::The entire room regards him peculiarly::  
  
Christian (breathlessly): What the HELL is that thing out there?  
  
::Ortega is rendered speechless by the sudden appearance of his Cowboy that Woman responds::  
  
Woman: What thing?  
  
Christian (in high voice): That-that THING out there! I mean, one minute I was walking down the hall to audition and the next thing I know I'm on the floor with this thing on top of me and its just ripping at me-  
  
Woman: Was it a wild dog?  
  
::Ortega finally breaks out of his stupor::  
  
Ortega (lazily): No, it was most likely the nymphomaniac.  
  
::Christian is still with his back to door, obviously holding an unknown object at bay as it hurls itself against the door::  
  
Christian (stunned): The NYMPHOMANIAC?  
  
::Ortega rises out of his seat and crosses room, prying Christian off the door and cracking it open. Ele Keats is indeed outside, prepared to ram herself against the door once more::  
  
Ortega (sternly): Ele?  
  
::Ele halts and lifts her head. Shame washes over her face::  
  
Ele: Mr. Ortega!  
  
Ortega (unsympathetic): I thought you were a reformed nymphomaniac!  
  
Ele (breaking down): Oh, Mr. Ortega, I am I am! It's just-  
  
Ortega: I gave you a role in my movie in hopes that it would help you. But then you go and try to have your way with MY Cowboy? How could you do such a thing?  
  
Ele (sobbing): Oh, Mr. Ortega, I couldn't help it! I saw him and just felt sheer lust-  
  
Ortega (sternly): Now, you sit here and think of what you have done and when you are ready you can apologize to Cowboy and perhaps be reinstated to my vision.  
  
Ele: Yes, Mr. Ortega!  
  
::Ortega slowly shuts the door and returns to his seat::  
  
Ortega: Now, I am very, truly sorry for that display, Christmas-  
  
Christian: Christian.  
  
Ortega: Pardon?  
  
Christian: It's Christian.  
  
Ortega: Right. You CAN come away from the door.  
  
::Christian reluctantly pulls himself away from the door and shuffles to the middle of the room::  
  
Ortega: And you may zipper up your pants.  
  
Christian (embarrassed): Oh, right.  
  
Ortega: Now, that that is all settled, Christmas-  
  
Christian: Christian.  
  
Ortega: Whatever. I would like to inform you that you've won the role.  
  
Christian (stunned): What? The role? I-I haven't even auditioned!  
  
::Ortega motions to Ann-Margret, who still is laying unconscious on the floor::  
  
Ortega: Yes, but you knocked her out.  
  
Christian: Right-so, this is the casting for that new Steven Spielberg movie, right?  
  
::Ortega and Woman exchange glances::  
  
Ortega (wearing deceivingly broad smile): Why, yes, it it!  
  
Christian (grinning at his good fortune): And, and you're like his assistant or something right?  
  
Ortega: Precisely!  
  
Christian (approaching Ortega): Awh, wow, this is so wonderful! Mr. Spielberg is so wonderful to work with! I can't wait to work with him again!  
  
::Woman is about to confide in him the truth, yet Ortega steps down hard on her foot, causing her to bite her tongue. He pulls out a contract and a pen:: Ortega: All you need to do is sign here.  
  
::Christian readily picks up pen and signs the first letters of his name, yet stops and looks at Ortega::  
  
Christian (warily): Shouldn't I read this first?  
  
Ortega: What for? It's just like all the other contracts-all that legal mumbo jumbo that is dirty work for people like us and not actors like yourself. Now, just finish signing and you will be guaranteed a lead in Mr. Spielberg's new movie.  
  
Christian: With out an audition or screen test or anything?  
  
Ortega: Oh, come now, Mr. Bale, you are much too advanced for silly trivial trifles like auditions. You are Mr. Spielberg's muse.  
  
::A smile lights up Christian's face as he readily signs the contract::  
  
Christian (under breath): Mr. Spielberg's muse, huh?  
  
::A devilish smile crosses Ortega's face once Christian has signed his name::  
  
Ortega: Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Bale-  
  
Christian: Oh, no, thank you Mr.-  
  
Ortega: Kelly. Jack Kelly.  
  
Christian: Well, thanks Mr. Kelly.  
  
::Ortega laughs at his own asinine joke::  
  
Christian: Did I miss something?  
  
Ortega (collecting himself): Oh, no, I was just recalling a prior incident.  
  
Christian: Right-well, I guess I better be going-  
  
Ortega: Of course.  
  
::Christian heads for door yet stops as he witnesses Ann-Margret laying in a heap in front of it::  
  
Christian: Ah-  
  
Ortega: Oh, her? Just push her out of the way.  
  
::Christian warily opens the door, it slowly opens, sliding Ann-Margret along the floor with it. He sets a foot out of the threshold when he spies Ele still sobbing on the ground. She gazes up at him, and reaches her hands up to his arm::  
  
Ele (wailing): Oh, Cowboy! I'm so truly sorry! I don't know what got into me! I'd been behaving myself but you just stirred up all my sexual urges once more! Oh, forgive me!  
  
::She peers her head in through open door::  
  
Ele: Was that good, Mr. Ortega?  
  
::Ortega nods his head::  
  
::Christian turns over his shoulder to view Ortega::  
  
Christian: Mr. Ortega? I thought you said your name was Mr. Kelly?  
  
::Ortega rises from his chair and ushers Christian out the door::  
  
Ortega (lazily): Oh, did I? Well, it must be that my American accent sounds foreign to your ears since you are so used to your dialect.  
  
Christian: That has nothing to do with it-  
  
::Shutting door behind him::  
  
Ortega: Don't call us, we'll call you.  
  
::Ortega shuts the door behind Christian. Ele is heard shrieking and carrying on. She had apparently grasped onto Christian's leg as he is stumbling down the hallway::  
  
Christian (voice muffled by closed door): What the hell? Get the hell off me!  
  
Ele (shrieking, also muffled by door): No, Cowboy, no! I LOVE YOU! LET ME HAVE YOUR CHILD!  
  
::A scuffle is heard and then a loud thud as Christian is brought down to the floor by Ele::  
  
::Ortega, wearing a listless expression, wipes his hands together and returns to his seat::  
  
Woman: Kenny, you are such a bastard.  
  
Ortega: I know, I know. But you saw how scared the kid was by the nymphomaniac. If he read the script and found out that she was his love interest, he would have never taken the role. But not (produces sighed contract) HE IS MINE! CHRISTMAS-  
  
Woman: Christian. Ortega: CHRISTIAN BALE IS MINE!!! HE IS MY COWBOY! MY JACK KELLY! MY FRANCIS SULLIVAN!  
  
Woman: But what about the accent?  
  
Ortega (suddenly deflated): What about it?  
  
Woman: Well, how can he be a cowboy and have that accent?  
  
Ortega: Ah, fuck it, that's what dialect coaches are for.  
  
::Ortega turns gaze skyward::  
  
Ortega: GOD, AM I FUFULLING YOUR VISION CORRECTLY? AM I? YOUR FIRST MUSICAL SINCE JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR?  
  
::Cue crickets::  
  
Ortega: Well-  
  
::Gaze falls to Ann-Margret. He places a hand on the phone, debating whether not to call Security. He finally dials::  
  
Ortega: Yes, Security? Where the hell are you? That escaped mental patient is still up here! I single handedly knocked her unconscious but Heaven knows what could have happened! She could have killed us all!  
  
::Security does not reply to this::  
  
::Ortega slams the receiver down::  
  
Ortega: Stupid bastards. (sighs) Who's the next kid?  
  
Woman: Aaron Lohr.  
  
Ortega (under breath): Aaron Lohr-  
  
::Ortega picks up Aaron Lohr's headshot. A devious smile crosses his face.::  
  
Ortega: Hi, there, please state your name! 


	5. Aaron Lohr: The Next Best Thing to Corey...

Note from Author: I'm updating! What a miracle. Once again, thanks to all those who reviewed! And now to more warped insanity-  
AARON LOHR: THE TAPDANCING NEPHEW  
  
::Location: 1991 in an airy room on the bottom level of a building in the Universal Studios lot. Behind a fold out table sits Kenny Ortega and random others. Miscellaneous sheets of paper and 8 x 10 headshots adorn the tabletop::  
  
::Ortega sits on the edge of his seat, brow furrowed, regarding the headshot of Aaron Lohr that he holds in his hands::  
  
Ortega: All right, send the next kid in. Whatthehellshisname? Andew Low-er?  
  
::Man sitting two chairs down from Ortega clears his throat and tries to attain Ortega's attention. Ortega does not realize this as he tries to pronounce name with help from Woman.::  
  
Ortega: Andrew Low-er? How the hell do you pronounce this?  
  
Woman (just as baffled): Aaron Lewer?  
  
Man: Uh, Mister-Mister Ortega?  
  
Ortega: Oh, Aaron-  
  
Woman: Lehr?  
  
Ortega: And how in the name of Christ do you say this kid's name?  
  
Man (yelling): MR. ORTEGA!  
  
::All eyes in the room fall to the Man. Ortega cocks an insolent brow.::  
  
Ortega (sneering): Sir, I say, but you do not have to raise your voice to a level such as that! I can hear you perfectly-  
  
Man (apologetically, interrupting Ortega): Sir, I'm very sorry. It's just that my name is Saul Lohr. You're holding a picture of my nephew Aaron Lohr. I don't think that he's auditioning for the movie, because you see, that's not a headshot of him. That's a picture whenever our family went up Lake Erie and him holding a fish he caught.  
  
::Ortega and Woman regard picture. It indeed shows Aaron holding a three- foot long fish in front of him.::  
  
Ortega and Woman: Oh-  
  
Saul: Yes.  
  
Ortega: Then what the hell is his picture doing in with the headshots?  
  
Saul (shrugging): I don't know, Mr. Ortega. It's just that his mother is working and could not pick him up from school today and my sister is a very worrisome person, so I told her I would look after Aaron. I knew we would be working long into the night with these auditions, but I told her he could perhaps it in a chair or something while we work.  
  
Ortega: Oh, well how lovely. Have the little brat come to MY auditions and take up MY time-  
  
Saul (pleadingly): But, Mr. Ortega, Aaron is a good kid-  
  
Ortega: Yeah, that's what they all say.  
  
Saul: No, really his is-  
  
::Door creaks open and Aaron appears with backpack slung over his shoulder.::  
  
Aaron (cheerfully): Hiya, Uncle Saul. They told me you would be up here.  
  
Saul: Why, hello, Aaron, how are you-  
  
::Saul notices glare that Ortega is giving him.::  
  
Saul: Ah, Aaron, sorry I couldn't talk to you longer, but-  
  
::Aaron nods and quietly sits in chair in corner of room, ignoring the glare that Ortega is now giving him. After Aaron is settled while playing a Gameboy Ortega goes back to ruffling the headshots, flustered.::  
  
Ortega (exaggeratedly): Now, before I was so RUDELY interrupted. Okay, who's the next kid on the list?  
  
Woman: Er, Gary Coleman-  
  
Ortega (jaw-dropped): Gary Coleman? Gary Coleman? You mean that elf who was on that show?  
  
Woman: Kenny, he wasn't an-  
  
Ortega: He's not a child! Why in the hell would he audition for my awesome, glorious vision?  
  
Woman: Perhaps he needs work-  
  
Ortega: No. I will not audition him.  
  
Woman: But, Kenny, these are open auditions and you know that they have laws against discrimination-  
  
::Ortega slams his hand on the table, causing headshots to scatter.::  
  
Ortega: And I really don't give a damn. I don't want a silly little elf to be in MY vision! My vision-  
  
Random others(tiredly): Sent straight from God himself.  
  
Ortega: Why how'd you know?  
  
Others: Lucky guess.  
  
Ortega: Well, all right, since we're not auditioning the elf who's-  
  
Aaron: Uh, excuse me?  
  
::Ortega looks up, infuriated::  
  
Ortega: What?  
  
Aaron (quietly): I have to use the bathroom.  
  
Ortega (taken aback): What?  
  
Aaron (sheepishly): Um, sorry to interrupt, but I haven't gone all day.  
  
::Ortega is poised to retaliate::  
  
Saul (interjecting): Down the hallway to the left.  
  
Aaron: Thanks, Uncle Saul.  
  
::Aaron rises and crosses the room, Ortega's burning stare never leaving him. He places his hand on the door knob to open it, when door opens, sending him backwards. Corey Feldman stumbles in, his cloths awry, his hair mussed and a Coca-Cola dangling from his left hand.::  
  
Corey (slurred): Oh, hey there! Hey, there's no toilets in here! This isn't the men's room!  
  
Woman: That's because this is an audition room.  
  
::Corey looks around the room. Realization strikes him.::  
  
Corey (laughing drunkenly): Oh, shit! You're right! Man, I'm really drunk right now.  
  
:: Ortega is in complete and utter awe of Corey. He rises from his chair, his eyes waxed and his jaw dropped.::  
  
Ortega (awe-struck): Corey Feldman?  
  
::Corey looks around room::  
  
Corey: Hey, who said that?  
  
::Aaron pushes the door off him, steps next to Corey::  
  
Aaron (angrily): He did.  
  
Corey: Oh. ::pause:: Hey, you have some really long hair, man.  
  
::Ortega blushes and comes round table. Yet, a stroke of brilliant realization hits him and he falls over. Random others rise from their seats and gasp as they gather around him::  
  
Woman (panicked): Kenny! Kenny! Are you all right?  
  
::Ortega helps himself up::  
  
Ortega (elatedly): Christ woman, how can you ask me if I'm all right? Of course I'm all right! Don't you see it? Can't you see it?  
  
::Woman looks up. Only sees a very pissed off Aaron and very plastered Corey.::  
  
Woman: Erm-  
  
::Ortega shakes all random others off him as he slowly strides over to Corey with his arms in front of him::  
  
Ortega: MUSH! Our Mush is standing before our silly mortal eyes. Don't you see? Mr. Feldman, you are an utter genius in my eyes. I mean, your performances-sheer, raw brilliance. I mean, License to Drive and the Lost Boys. You and Corey Haim were just so immortal and godlike in your exquisite performances-  
  
Corey: Man, are you sure you don't have a twin? I can see two of you. Whoa, I'm really drunk!  
  
Ortega (brusquely): That's all right, Corey.  
  
::Ortega leads Corey to the center of the room while Aaron strides out the door, stepping over an unconscious Ann-Margret and slamming it behind him.::  
  
Ortega: Now, Mr. Haim-  
  
Corey (protesting in a slurred voice): But I'm Corey Feld-  
  
Ortega: No time for chitter-chatter. Here. I want you to read from this script.  
  
::Ortega tossed Cory the script, and he awkwardly catches it yet lets the Coca-Cola bottle fall to the flood, the contents inside spilling out and staining the carpet.::  
  
Woman (angrily, rising from seat): Ah, look Kenny! Disney just recarpeted this room and the little bastard spills his Coke on it!  
  
Corey: It wasn't Coke. It was vodka.  
  
::Woman shakes head and sits down when the door suddenly bangs open. Aaron enters, looking bewildered and disheveled. His hair is askew, his shirt ripped, and his pants unbuttoned. His breathing heavy and labored, he suddenly slams door behind him, pressing all his weight against it::  
  
Aaron (voice shaking): What-  
  
::A glare crossed Ortega's face as he hold up a hand, silencing Aaron and stalks across the room.::  
  
Ortega: Don't say another word!  
  
::He thunders to door and pulls it open. Outside stands Ele Keats, prepared to throw herself against the door once more. In the background stands Christian Bale, hog-tied with a rope and with a sock in his mouth..::  
  
Ortega (with a flourish): Ele!  
  
::Ele catches herself and begins to sob.::  
  
Ortega (motioning towards Christian): What may I ask is this?  
  
Ele (bawling): Oh, Mr. Ortega! I couldn't help myself! You don't know how hard it is to be a nymphomaniac!  
  
::Corey Feldman immediately freezes and turns towards the door. A wicked smile crosses his face.  
  
Corey: A nymphomaniac? He-y!  
  
::He throws script into air and falls to ground in a scatter of papers. He struts towards door, adjusting his sunglasses.::  
  
Corey (suavely): I got a License to Drive a stick. I'll give you a license to drive my stick.  
  
::An expression of absolute shock crosses his face as he sees the lusty, animal expression Ele wears. She grabs his shirt by the collar and pulls him out the door. He releases an audible yell, yet Ortega only slams the door behind him.  
  
::Ortega strides to center of room, a look of despair on his face, and the back of his hand to his brow in an exaggerated manner of despair.::  
  
Ortega (loudly): Oh, woe is me! Woe is me! Where on Earth will I find another Mush! (looking to ceiling): Is this what You wanted? Is this Your way of mocking me?  
  
::Silence. Cue in crickets::  
  
Aaron (slowly): Ah, Mr. Ortega?  
  
Ortega (loudly): This is YOUR vision! YOUR vision! Do You understand the magnitude of what has just occurred! We lost Corey Haim! Corey Haim! And You more than anybody else should know how popular that little bastard is with the girls!  
  
::Silence::  
  
Ortega: Okay, so maybe not. But we would at least of had a recognizable name! So tell me who the hell we have: Spot Conlon, Vinny Barbarino, Christmas Bale, and, oh, let's not forget the fucking nymphomaniac! These brats don't have any star power! I wouldn't be surprised if within five months from now they were selling their internal organs on the black market or selling crack cocaine to minors just to make a buck!  
  
Aaron: Mr. Ortega?  
  
::Ortega turns around, his breathing labored and face red::  
  
Ortega (bellowing): What!  
  
Aaron (timidly): I-I could be your Mush.  
  
::Ortega breaks into wild laughter::  
  
Ortega: You, my Mush! I think not! Let me ask you this: Can you sing?  
  
Aaron: Yes.  
  
Ortega: Can you dance?  
  
Aaron: Yes.  
  
Ortega: Can you act?  
  
Aaron: Yes.  
  
Ortega (sniveling): Well, then that makes you so special, doesn't it?  
  
Aaron: No, Mr. Ortega-you directed me in three music videos already. Don't you remem-  
  
::A wicked smile crosses over Ortega's mouth::  
  
Ortega (interrupting): So, your character likes the girls. Can you sing the line 'Met this goil last night?'  
  
Aaron (unsure): Uh, sure. Met this goil last-  
  
::Ortega places a hand on Aaron's shoulder and pushes him across the room to the door.::  
  
Ortega: Good. So Mush likes the women. Just tame that thing out there and you got the job.::  
  
::He quickly opens door and pushes Aaron through doorway. Aaron's face twists into horror as he begins to scream. Ortega slams the door and begins to innocently whistle as he brushes his hands together. Aaron's muffled cries are still heard from outside.::  
  
::Ortega listlessly ambles back to the table and takes a seat. Still whistling, he begins to shuffle through headshots. Everyone in the entire room stares at him incredulously, mouths gaping::  
  
::Ortega glances up::  
  
Ortega (shrugging shoulders): What?  
  
::Murmurs fill the room as random others get back to work.::  
  
Ortega: Who's the next kid?  
  
Woman: Trey Parker.  
  
Ortega (under breath): Trey Parker-  
  
::Ortega picks up Trey Parker's headshot. A devious smile crosses his face.::  
  
Ortega: Hi, there, please state your name! 


End file.
